


Telling Ghosts

by Applesap



Category: Danny Phantom, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesap/pseuds/Applesap
Summary: Junkrat and Roadhog find themselves dead in Amity Park. It's not that bad. They share an afterlife, have a good time hurling ectoplasmic bombs at unsuspecting strangers, and occasionally get chased by two wacky but deadly scientist and their undead ghost-hunting son. It's not quite life, but if you were to ask Roadhog, anything is better than death.
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Roadhog | Mako Rutledge
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Amity Park, a nice place to live!

**Author's Note:**

> Does this count as major character death?
> 
> I've fallen back into the danny phandom, but I still have that contract written in blood that says I have to pay a certain amount of attention to roadrat. Thus, a danny phantom crossover ensued! Will have small chapters (probably) about little tidbits of their afterlife. So, little plot. will probably update sporadically
> 
> I'm trying out a non-quote style for dialogue because it kind of ties in with what I want to explore in a later chapter. It's experimental, so tell me what you think.

_A ma tee Pahk, a nice place to live,_ Junkrat reads loudly from the giant billboard next to the highway. The noise of the cars on the asphalt barely come out above Junkrat’s yelling. _Well Roado, were not in Kansas anymore._

He says this as a matter of factly before starting a little dance, bending his knees and clacking his heels together a couple of times with his hands curled up and cutesy.

 _That shit don't work ouside of books,_ Roadhog slurs.

Where were they supposed to go anyway?

Junkrat stops dancing and scratches his head. His hair is on fire. Actually on fire-fire, perpetually burning and even licking at his ears and neck. Neither of them make a move to put it out.

They don’t even know how they got here.

Roadhog doesn’t even remember a big boom, which is usually the first thing that comes to mind when Junkrat and Roadhog are disoriented. All they know is they ended up in that green upside down and topsy-turvy world that made Roadhog wanna puke from confusion if he had anything to expel. Even now it feels like it has been days since he’s eaten, or even been awake. He feels doozy, and Junkrat too looks much calmer than usual. 

They swam in that great green pool with thousands of other creatures slithering past them. They spoke only in little sentences, almost like quotes; References of some sorts to memories not accessible to either of them. Junkrat randomly grabbed him sometimes as if in reflex, but Roadhog couldn’t make himself get angry at him. Junkrat always did it as if he was meant to do it, like the random giggles he let out, and Roadhog directed his sudden fits of anger at not the partner stuck to his side, but at the unsuspecting monsters swarming alongside of them.

It was then that they had felt their real selves swimming up to the surface, breaching that haze of green. A great black and yellow striped portal opened up in front of them, which ended up teleporting them (or whatever) to a lab. And now they find themselves staring at real people again instead of freaky green ghosts.

_Oh yeah, fuck._

The depth of the situation takes a moment to sink in. And when it does, their minds fall together like puzzle pieces.

_Uhhh…_

_Hoggie, I think we bloody blew it._

_Yeah…_

_We perished!_

_Yep._

_Kabloomza! Up into the air!_

Well, Roadhog isn’t entirely sure about that. But, he wouldn't put it past junkrat to send them flying to heaven. Or hell. He always said that he wanted to be launched sky-high if he had to die. He would have to take Junkrat for his word because he can’t remember it either.

_We have met our demise! Junkrat looks panicked, despite his cheery voice. Don't remember the bloke, though. Must not have had a very impressionable face. But he got us good. I've got to hand it to him._

In a fit of rage he unclasps his arm and throws it far away onto the highway where it is instantly destroyed by ongoing traffic.

Junkrat scowls, fumes with near tears in his eyes from the unwelcome realization as he watches the bits and pieces of his discarded arm scatter under the cars. 

A small unexpected explosion erupts. Confused drivers bump into each other. Cars burn. But Junkrat’s relief does not rise like the fire does. 

Although still and unmoving, Roadhog is not much calmer. He presses his lips tightly together with rage almost as if he disapproves of the news. He knows what this means. If they died it means he hadn’t done his job as a bodyguard. He had allowed Junkrat to die, and blew (probably!) them both three weeks into the next world. Roadhog was a hardened man. Survival was what steered him all those years. Unwillingly or decidedly, it means he had given up on living.

Junkrat’s arm promptly returns to him a couple of seconds later.

 _Oh! Bonza!_ Like snow in the sun his scowl disappears into fascination. He stretches the arm in front of him, the burning and smoking wrecks on the highway complimenting the clean orange of his metal arm. He wiggles his fingers and rotates his wrist, inspecting it for any marks the speeding cars might have left, but he found none. 

Roadhog quirks his eyebrow. _No ‘handy’?_ he offers him.

Junkrat wrinkles his face at him disapprovingly. His tears are gone, but the corners of his eyes look wet. _Teargas_ , is what Roadhog’s mind provides.

_Don't wear out the joke, smarty._

Junkrat then throws up his hands into the air, exasperated. _What the hell are we gonna do now? You’re dead and I’m dead. Which means you’re a shit bodyguard. You let us cark it, mate. What the hell were you thinking? You had one job and you blew it._ Junkrat’s rage returns, hurling insult after insult and Roadhog can’t do anything but take it like a patsy. Shame burrows itself in his gut.

 _What are you gonna do for me now?_ Junkrat continues. _Have us rebirthed? Wide eyed, he looks at Roadhog, a visual presentation of an idea popping into his head._ Then he discards it. _NAH! But what use are you to me blocking bullets when I’m already dead?_

Junkrat is back to his old self, plotting and scheming, rubbing his chin and elbow and pressing his thick comical eyebrows into his nose. But Roadhog can’t flip moods so easily. He feels stuck. Junkrat is right. He failed him. 

He stares up at the panicked humans on the highway. They are shouting at each other, perturbed, and talking, trying to make sense of what just happened. The evidence that should have been left behind has neatly returned to Junkrat’s arm stump. Few people come out of their wrecked cars with bloodied heads and hands, and some don’t come out at all. Friends and families and insurance companies are called.

 _Cops are here_ , he hears himself say, an effort to be useful to the man after all. It’s like automatism, a warning to them both to pack up their shit and run, but they just stand there, watching the people collect themselves as authority comes up to take care of them. They are like little ants going on about their business, a separate world from Junkrat and Roadhog. Images on the telly. 

Junkrat is the first to break that illusion.

 _Hey! They can’t see us!_ Junkrat flies (flies!) over to them and waves his hand in front of their faces. No reaction. The cops just take notes while a guy with a head wound explains to the best of his ability what he thinks happened. They don’t even bristle at the appearance of the international outlaw. Well, that’s not entirely true. Roadhog notices a slight shudder going over some of the copper’s shoulders closest to Junkrat. 

A sick wrench coils Roadhog’s gut. It is macabre. It is the cold of a dead body that they notice, brushing over them. A body made cold by Roadhog. He did that to Junkrat.

Junkrat’s hair is still on fire and Roadhog wonders just why the fuck that is. Why Junkrat’s fire still burns when it should have been smothered.

 _Ohohoh, this is gonna be good,_ Junkrat says, rubbing his hands together. He is glowing, Roadhog notices. How has he not noticed before? There’s a white aura to him, and glancing down he sees himself glowing like a light bulb too, hovering just centimeters above the ground like a proper specter. _We’ll be flat out in mayhem now, mate._

Junkrat is still audible over on the highway, like a constant shouting in his ear, always there. 

We… Roadhog ponders. The topics are switched so flippantly. Of course Junkrat doesn’t actually give a crap about the insults he throws at him, even if he’s right. He expects him to uphold their contract, bound by word and a promise that had meant more than any other deal made under the crooked law of their home. Even death couldn’t break it. He’ll be his enforcer forever and ever after. 

There is still a fire inside of Roadhog, a madness that won’t be quenched for a long time until he makes sure he can follow up on his part of their deal. They will survive again.

 _Won’t let you die again,_ Roadhog says while he watches him hover over the wreckage of his making, and it’s a promise.


	2. Falling without flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man this was weird to write. not at all fun and lighthearted like I wanted. but alas.. the author writes what the author writes.. I tried to make it lighter towards the end :]
> 
> some warnings for implied suicide, but no actual self-harm.

Roadhog would argue that Junkrat looks more human than him when he tries. Roadhog is freakishly huge while Junkrat barely touches the point of being a reasonable height, especially because they're flying at least a few centimeters off the ground at all times. Junkrat’s expressions are monstrous like only a human’s could be, no smooth faint lines that most ghosts have, while Roadhog’s real face is locked away by a mask.

But how could Roadhog not immediately have noticed Junkrat’s hideous green complexion? 

Junkrat is a wrongness in the material world, offensive in colors against the brown and grey backdrop of the autumn dog park. He looks sick, being as pale and green as he is. Roadhog doesn’t look much better, a translucent blue apparition in the middle of the park looking like a proper dead guy, like he’s suffocated or drowned or some shit, while Junkrat looks like he died from a 18th century illness. Their inhuman visuals really nourish the fantasy.

Roadhog hovers just a couple of centimeters above a park bench in the illusion that he sits on it while Junkrat prepares himself to climb up a tree. According to him, climbing instead of flying makes it feel that much more realistic when he falls. 

Roadhog doesn’t want to think too much about what that implies.

It bores him, although really Roadhog could watch him for hours. He isn't one to whine, but if he was he would tell junkrat to stop fucking around and find something for both of them to do. His inactivity makes him lethargic and he can actually feel his power drain from him. 

Junkrat is having a jolly good time testing his abilities. Roadhog has no need for that. A knowledge buried inside of him knows he will have his powers when he needs them. Being a ghost is instinctive. If he wants to be visible, he is. If he feels the need to hurl skin-burning ectoplasm around, he will, but so far he hasn’t. 

Junkrat on the other hand is bursting with pent-up energy and looks for any reason to expel it. It comes more natural to him, causing destruction, and seeks it out readily. Roadhog would gladly join him, but he hasn’t found anyone reasonable to kill so far, nor has Junkrat suggested any sort of plan for him to sink his teeth into. Amity Park is a real hotspot for mommies and daddies and kiddies and doggies. Not so much rich assholes with fancy suits they can bleed on.

So Roadhog sits on his ass, doing nothing but watch his idiot partner climb up a tree for no reason at all. It's not his idea of time well spent in the afterlife, but it'll do. They have forever. 

Junkrat has dimmed his glow, separating his ghostly powers from his human-like appearance. He is a powerful ghost, much more so than Roadhog, despite Junkrat’s opinion that he has something he calls “real strength”, but being or looking physically strong doesn’t mean he is powerful. It takes power to become visible to humans and to touch objects that belong to this dimension. Most ghosts are confined to a lifetime of confusion and unreality in the Ghost Zone, and have no sense to find a way out of the green hellscape they call home, let alone be able to touch anything here. 

_Don’t trust that place, ‘Hog,_ Junkrat had said about the unreality of the place when they talked about the possibility of going back into the portal. _It scrambles my brain and makes us all loony._

Junkrat follows the natural law of the world to the best of his ability, gravity included. It won't make him happy if he only has the option to fly without falling. That’s why he allows his feet to touch the ground and his hands to wrap themselves around the tree branch even though his waxen ectoplasmic skin can scarcely feel its touch. It makes him look even more like a human, despite his coloring. 

It is an odd look, Roadhog thinks, even though they’ve only been ghosts for two days or less, seeing Junkrat support himself on the branches is unreal in a way he cannot describe. It’s like seeing a reflection in the mirror reach out and grab something. Same sensation.

Junkrat’s gangly arms act real enough as they reach above his long frame, hoisting him up the branches with firm and quick pulls of his toned arms. There is hardly any friction present and he might as well be flying with how quickly he climbs up. His peg leg certainly doesn’t do much to stabilize his body, but from time to time he uses his boot to push off the bark.

His ass wiggles and bends, and the illusion of muscles under his green skin keeps Roadhog’s attention on him, not because he’s worried he might hurt himself. They can’t, really. Their world is only tangible if they wish it so, and Roadhog will always be there to catch him.

In no time Junkrat reaches the highest point in the tree. It is so far up that Roadhog can barely distinguish his green glow in between the foliage and branches, but he knows he’s there. Junkrat waves at him, grin plastered on his face before he spreads his arms in show, dims the already weak glow of his aura into non-existence, and simply lets himself fall off the branch.

Roadhog watches with fixed eyes as the man falls towards the ground.

It’s not a long drop, but the speed at which he falls will be enough to crush all bones in a human, and it takes all of his might for Roadhog not to rush forward and take him in his arms, but Junkrat won’t want him to catch him. He doesn’t want to be saved. He wants to fall.

Roadhog watches patiently but tense as Junkrat hurls towards the ground. 

He is a grey blur, no longer green as he falls tangible towards the earth, shoulder first as if he's about to throw his weight on top his opponent.

_Woooaaaaahhhh!!! AAAA!!!_

Junkrat cries out in a mix of victory and trepidation as the ground rushes closer. Then, where a normal human would go splat and break all of their bones, he phases right through the ground, his world becoming dark in a flash as he disappears into the earth. Roadhog visibly relaxes back into the bench groaning and rubs his forehead.

Underground, Junkrat enters a fever-dream of weightlessness. Two sides move but without the sensation of motion, making his head spin. A green glow is cast from his eyes, illuminating the rocks that pass over briefly and unnaturally, visions of misshapen rocks hurling towards him everlasting without the finality of hurt, blurs of bugs and dirt all scrunched up in the center while he loses track of direction soaring nowhere between up and down.

He giggles at the sensation and wonders what will happen if his body becomes tangible inside the earth. Will it try to make room for his body? Will the ground go kaboom and leave a crater with him in the middle? Will the soil replace all of his ectoplasm and turn him into clay? Would it kill him again?

These thoughts pass over Junkrat and Roadhog alike. A shared excitement of glee and worry through the unknown.

Roadhog bows his head and feels the man under him lost in the dirt.

Junkrat can't have been suicidal, he thinks. He has too much vigor, and Roadhog would have stopped his brain from wandering past that frightening point of no return. What would the point have been then? How could he have come back if he wanted that finality?

Roadhog snarls suddenly. He wants to dig around in the earth and drag his partner out and end this senseless playing. He feels him swim under him like a diving gull into the ocean, deep and unending. He can even sense the isolation coming from Junkrat, inviting him in.

Roadhog knows there is something bothering him, burrowed in his core about this entire situation. The not knowing why they came back, why they survived. Anger when he shouldn’t give a damn, be joyful even. But Roadhog is stuck not-sitting on the park bench as his partner twists himself into knots and corkscrews in the darkness of the earth.

Before he really gets mad, a hand grabs him by the ankle, and slowly he sees Junkrat’s hair rise up between the yellow tufts of grass. His head becomes visible, green and intangible, his jaundiced eyes bulging out of the ground and his long sharp nose too until the wicked scowl on his mouth greets him finally, back again and about to say his piece.

_I could've died there!_

_You're already dead,_ Roadhog informs him and he knows instantly it's the wrong thing to say, because Junkrat looks troubled for a moment, his round eyes drifting off to the side in thought like he genuinely forgot he could easily have gone splat on the asphalt. Then he giggles.

_Good thing too, yeah? Wos mighty scary down there, though. Didn’t know my head from my arse. What if I had flesh on me again?_

_Could’ve lost your green guts ‘between the rocks._

Junkrat lets out a bark of laughter and slaps the skull pad on Roadhog’s knee.

_I was thinking the exact same thing! Nasty business that would’ve been!_

Unnerving. Roadhog grabs his skinny wrist, engulfing nearly his entire forearm in the process, and lifts him up out of the ground until his boot and peg leg are hanging limp in the air.

 _Let’s go again,_ Junkrat says, about to move over to the tree, but Roadhog stops him and his body flings comically like a ragdoll. Holding his waxen arm firmly in his own, the feeling is familiar, and Roadhog revels in it.

 _Boss,_ he calls him for the first time, straightening him out. Their thoughts are blank as they stare at each other. Roadhog pleading, Junkrat questioning.

Roadhog was about to tell him to do something, but the contact of his skin fries out his brain or something because he can only look at Junkrat's curious face through his dark lenses, mute.

 _You bored? You can join me if you want. Maybe I'll use you as a cushion._ Junkrat’s cheeky grin is firm in place, showing off his rows of discolored teeth, two more darker and golden than the others.

Roadhog shrugs his heavy shoulder and grunts a negative.

_Well don’t you like to fly?_

_Not really, no._

Roadhog holds no specific fondness for flying in his heart, and if he had to go splat against something he’d rather go horizontal than vertical. He likes the long stretch of a highway more than heights.

Junkrat inspects him for a moment, deep in thought as he gently pushes away the meaty paw that encases his forearm. He looks at ‘Hog's eyes behind the lenses, their color so dark they just look like giant pupils under a thick brow. They are expectant.

_You doing okay, mate?_

It feels like Roadhog's got honey in his head. Like there's two people talking inside his head instead of just the one quiet bloke. Always a chattering, talking about death and what-ifs. It annoys him, because there's better things to do in his past-life than wracking his brain about the depressing ways of how they got here.

The lack of reply annoys Junkrat. He hates being ignored, but ‘Hog is not ignoring him. He is silent because he’s got no way to tell Junkrat that he isn't doing okay, because that is not the type of guy he is, freely talking about his feelings as if the other man will spare him some sweet words to ease his mind.

Roadhog says nothing. At a loss for words why he can't stand seeing Junkrat fall.

Roadhog reminds himself that Junkrat lets himself fall because it is deadly, not because it is fatal. He does it for the moment in between. The scare and excitement of what will come next, the idea that it could go wrong, the surprise - a driving point for everything Junkrat does. Everything inside of Roadhog screams at him to protect the guy from fake danger, but he must allow Junkrat to do whatever he wants.

 _Suit yourself._ Junkrat flips his hands into the air dramatically and flies off to the top of the tree. Mood ruined by the wordless argument, he does not use his arms and legs to climb the tree anymore. He just wants to fall. 

And Roadhog has to watch it happen again, see him spread his arms, diving down without the glow of inhumanity.

And again.

And again.

Three more times Junkrat hurls towards the ground shoulder first to brace for the impact that never comes.

When he flies up for the fourth time, Roadhog has enough. The next time Junkrat falls, Roadhog catches him before he can disappear into the earth.

As soon as he notices his fall has been interrupted Junkrat thrashes in Roadhog's unrelenting arms and shouts, let me go! Let me go, you oaf!

He jumps free and sprawls in the air in front of him, collecting himself and setting his bombs and straps right on his shoulders.

 _You've gotta stop this,_ Roadhog calmly says.

 _And why is that!_ Junkrat challenges him. 

Roadhog gives him a look of ‘you know why’ and Junkrat explodes, his hair in full flame once more.

_Can you stop brooding, mate! You think we got it bad? You think this is worse than being a fucking corpse in the ground? You got us here, you know. You're the one who wanted to survive, so stop moping around on that bench and get up and have some fun with me, or you’re gonna have a real bad time for the rest of our afterlife!_

Roadhog is stunned for a second as he takes in the rant. _Y’seem pretty fucking tense for a guy looking for some fun,_ Roadhog remarks once Junkrat is finished.

_‘Cos we’re supposed to be in this together! But all you’re worried about is- is-, say, what are you worried about again?_

Roadhog sighs without a breath and shakes his head. 

_‘Bout fucking nothing, I guess. ‘M just thinking about nothing at all. Don’t think you wanna know._

But Junkrat’s attentive for once and cocks his head at Roadhog’s self-deprecating tone. Never heard you talk this much. _Don’t get shy now, biggun._

 _It’s all fucked_ , Roadhog says, opening and closing his hands. They look calloused as if they've ever been used. Were they not made to do something? To wrangle and hurt and twist and disjoint? To work hard?

_I feel weak._

Junkrat’s expression turns sad, a bad look on him since it softens his face. If there’s something Roadhog hates more than spilling his guts to someone, it’s pity. 

Junkrat awkwardly scratches the back of his head and mumbles, _‘M not exactly at full capacity either._

Well that’s just complete bullshit. Roadhog isn’t too sure he can turn visible and tangible and fire lasers as rapidly and powerfully as Junkrat. Roadhog needs a real reason to get as worked up as Junkrat is on a regular basis. Then the answer occurs to him.

_I want you to get really hurt._

Roadhog surprises himself when he says it, but finds that he means it. Junkrat’s eyebrows shoot up into his forehead. 

_Hurt!?_ Junkrat takes a second to process what he said and the flings himself at Roadhog and punches him with his weak little ghost fists. _Aaaarrghh, what are you talking about, you bastard!_

Roadhog chuckles in reply, completely unhurt by Junkrat’s attack on his shoulder pads. 

He wraps his bulging arms around Junkrat’s skinny body and squeezes his head, rubbing his massive knuckles against his scalp playfully. I need you in real danger so I can catch you for real. 

_Hhhrnnnggg let me go! Let me go!_ Junkrat cries out, but there’s laughter in his voice. 

_Can't explain it. Just gotta do something else than sit on my arse. And you gotta do more planning. Today was shit._

Junkrat wiggles and writhes but comes not a single bit closer to escaping from the giant’s grasp. _Fine! I’ll be considerate next time._

_We’re in this together. Gotta share our time._

What an awful thought, they both think. Ghosts are the most dangerously self-obsessed creatures in the world. All ghosts have is themselves. All they care about is themselves. But 'Rat and 'Hog are not alone, which makes the instinct of self-interest all fucked. How much will they accomplish with an alliance between two narcissists?

 _Sure are! Next time I’ll drag you to that treetop with me._ _Sharing. I’ll give you your fair share alright. 10-90 of all proceeds._

 _Fifty-fifty_ , Roadhog rumbles. _We’ve been over this._

 _Have we?_ Junkrat has some trouble looking up at Roadhog’s mask, but he manages to turn his head just a little in the headlock. _Can’t remember._

 _We have. And that’s what you got me for,_ Roadhog says.

_Mate, I just realized what we’ve been doing wrong all along. We- say, let me out will you? Enough of this monkey business. Let's make us some money, yeah!_

Roadhog frees him from muscle prison and Junkrat jumps up, gesturing wildly as he comes up with a plan before his eyes. A heist. Explosions. Intangibility. Invisibility! Chaos! Mayhem! Confusion, but not on their part for once but the humans who will have no idea what strikes them as Junkrat and Roadhog steal away the whole goddamn place before their very eyes!

Sounds like a good plan to Roadhog. He can't wait till eternity.


End file.
